Christmas Follies
by Jean Cooper
Summary: M FOMT Christmas family related-ish tiny oneshots to help me with writers block. Short mini reads. OC/Bachelors; OC/Bachelorettes. Updated: Jack/Ann
1. Cutting Corners

**Alright....I figure between this and the long fics I need to update I can at least be productive. This certaitnly helped jogged my brain, even though it is so short. Hope it is somewhat enjoyable.**

**Disclaimer: I dont' own Harvest Moon :(**

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"Rick…she's only two weeks old. I don't think she's going to remember much of her first Christmas."

I huffed in annoyance at my wife, as I tried in vain to untangle the green blob of wires and multicolored lights, beginning to snatch at it in frustration. I could smell the hot chocolate taunting me on the table, and that seemed to be making me all the more aggravated.

"But I will Claire. And I want it to be perfect," I muttered out, smirking as I finally got some of the wire to loosen and unravel. Unfortunately in that unraveled bit there was no end piece, and I immediately sighed in defeat. This was going to take awhile.

"I think it would be less frustrating and a lot easier to just go buy new lights," she said quietly, sitting on the couch in front of me and sinking into the plush cushions. She looked utterly exhausted, her usually immaculate hair up in a messy bun and her wrinkly baggy pajamas making her look somewhat frumpy.

I think that Claire would look stunning in a burlap sack, and so I didn't mind her appearance in the least .After all she had been taking care of our newborn daughter for the past two months. And the fatigue was obvious. Her beautiful cerulean eyes were dull and lacking in their usual luster, and under her eyes were the tell tale signs of sleep deprivation.

"It might be easier, but we'd have to order them from the city," I countered, pushing my glasses up my nose as I examined the wad of tangled lights, searching for an end piece. Silence filled the air, the only sound the ticking of the old clock against the wall and crackling and popping of the burning wood in the hearth.

This winter season had been more stressful on me than others. I suppose because of stress and worry. I had always had deal with those things in my life, stressing over my father's absence and worrying over my mother's health. But this year I had the added burden.

I had to worry about Claire, and the baby that was growing inside of her. My baby, our baby. Claire had protested it, but I had taken on all her farm chores as she got further along, afraid that something would happen to her out in her field, that one of her cows might pin her to the wall and lean on her. *

I was so damn scared that something would happen to make her lose the baby, or something would happen to make me lose both of them. Things that I cared about in my life had always been easily taken away, or very fragile.

But I wouldn't be that way. I wouldn't leave my wife, my child behind to go find some cure that was supposedly a myth. I would stay here and support my wife, nurture my family, and help my daughter grow. And if there were more children in the future, I would do the same for them. My children would have the happy unbroken home I had yearned for so much growing up. I wouldn't be a disappointment, a distant memory.

Christmas time contained some of my fondest memories with my father. How we would get up early on Christmas morning to hike up the mountain. Well Dad would hike up the mountain and pull me on my sleigh while I made sure the axe stayed securely on it.

Then there was always the search for the perfect Christmas tree. The first eight that I picked out were always to big to fit in our modest house, and then the next three were always to wide. And by the time dad finally suggested a smaller thinner tree my glasses were frosted over and virtually useless.

As the men of the house, we always had to set the tree up, and then I would get to sit down and have a glass of hot chocolate while my dad did exactly what I was doing. Tried to untangle the Christmas lights. And evidently it was just as frustrating for me as it had been for him.

I paused what I was doing when I heard the soft gurgling coming from the next room, signaling that Ashleen was awake. Claire stood up, pausing and looking down as she spoke.

"You know…in the city we never had real trees at Christmas time," she said, finally breaking the silence. "They were always artificial," she added, turning her head to the side thoughtfully. I snorted and was about to protest the existence of artificial trees when she continued on. "I never liked them, but I used to have one that was pre lit." Her words made me drop the bundle of wires and my glasses slid down my nose.

"Pre lit?"

"Yeah. The tree already had the lights on it. Every year I would just put it together, and plug it in. And then I would go to the tree lot and but a few branches to stick in, so the house had that pine scent," she turned on me as she finished, walking into the other room to see to our daughter.

I looked at the pile of lights that I was trying to untangle, and then to the axe I had by the door to go and cut a real tree down, and thought back on her words. I stood and put on my coat, calling out to her.

"I'm going to talk to Zack, about…ordering something," I called over my shoulder, walking out into the cold.

It wasn't really about the tree after all. It was about getting to spend time with your loved ones. And if you could cut corners to do that, and not get homicidal of tangled lights, then why not?

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*My dad told me this story once about a farmer who got pinned against the fence and a cow, and the cow just kept leaning against him and crushing him. The farmer almost died; but they found him in time and he only suffered multiple broken ribs. That's where Rick's worry comes from.


	2. Happy Holidays from the Captain

**Alright, oneshot number two. It's Jack Karen, which was unplanned to come after the Rick Claire, so dont expect the pattern to be like this for all of them. They come as random as the ideas. I hope any one brave enough to read this gets a good chuckle out of it. I was snickeing writing this.**

**I don't own HM or Captain Morgan. lol.**

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Confidence. It was something I had in myself in every aspect of my life. My looks, my attitude, my drinking abilities. Some people might find my appearance intimidating, others might find my attitude somewhat snobbish. And there was no doubt in any one's mind that I had the most alcohol tolerance in the entire Mineral Town Village. Yes I had confidence in everything. Except maybe cooking.

Oh I could enter the cooking festival every year with a fake confident smile as I set my charred and unshaped looking dish on the table. I could just shrug my shoulders when the gourmet tore into any shred of cooking self esteem I held left in me.

Everyone in this village could cook. At least one thing that made was the best of something. Doug was by far the most diverse cook in the village, and Ann coming in close behind him. Anna, Kai, Lillia, my mother, and even Kai could cook. And then Jack came along, and even he could cook.

And considering Jack's nature, his goofy quiet fumbling nature, that kind of irked me to begin with, it was amazing we had ended up together. But I had to admit that after knowing him a few years, and after being married, the fact that I was away from my mother's skilled cooking abilities and left with only my own knowledge…well I'll just say that I was fairly happy I didn't have to cook for the family. Goddess knows we probably would both be dead from food poisoning by now.

Jack could cook, and cook well. It was hard to give him jealous scowls when my taste buds were screaming in shear delight. It was hard to chastise him for being able to do something so well that I could not. I couldn't cook, it was a given. But I still tried.

And so here I was, in the kitchen, snow blocking my view out the window as I rolled out this nasty looking cookie dough, which I'm sure wasn't the right consistency or texture, giving how it was sticking to the rolling pin. But I trudged on, cutting the cookies into small shapes and popping them in the oven.

Mom always made Christmas cookies and put them on our Christmas tree, Dad and I would both get to take one when she said and eat it. Of course she only did it in the three days before Christmas, as they would get all stale and gross from being left out all the time, but still it was a tradition I wanted to upkeep. And I was stubborn and wanted to make the cookies myself, no matter how inedible they may be.

And inedible they were. I could probably have hurled one of these Christmas….bricks and busted a window. I sighed and pushed the cookie sheet away angrily, burying my face in my flour covered hands. And I felt a gust of cold winter nipping at my arms and looked up, sure my green eyes were shining with tears of frustration.

"Karen, sweetie what's wrong?" Jack's voice cracked as he spoke, his throat hoarse from being out in the cold, accompanied by the cold he'd been trying to catch for the past few days. I shook my head and wiped my eyes quickly.

"N-nothing," I said firmly, though my voice was quiet and somewhat soft. Jack tilted his head up his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the air with his congested nose.

"You cooked something," he stated and rubbed the back of his neck, seeming to be thinking something over.

"I burnt something. I wasted ingredients and decimated the food, just like I always do!" I snapped back, angry and hurt that I couldn't uphold my own silly family tradition, despite how many times my mother had tried to show me how to make cookies.

"Alright…" Jack began, walking over to the fireplace were our two stalking hung, both of them with small wrapped gifts from the other in there. He grabbed mine and turned to me, walking over to the couch and dumping it out. "Tell me what your favorite thing is," he said casually, grabbing one of the items out and moving it away as he returned the rest of the scattered wrapped presents and returned the stalking to its nail. I raised an eyebrow up at him warily. Was this a trick question?

"Umm…you?" I offered, feeling my cheek flush and looking to the side embarrassedly. Jack snorted and shook his head.

"Well…how about the one thing that you love more than me then? And you get half a brownie point for trying, and loose half for lying," he joked, walking up with the large wrapped item in his hand.

"Liquor," I said without batting an eyelash, a smirk growing on my embarrassed face. Jack just nodded, his eye squinting shut as he handed me the object in his hand. I took it, weighing it. It was somewhat heavy and I'm sure that…given the big hint it was liquor.

"Go ahead and open it Karen," he said with a chuckle and I tore into it smiling at the bottle. It was decorated in holly leaves and said Happy Holidays from Captain Morgan across it.

"Rum?" I asked, and Jack nodded, taking the bottle and turning it over to show it to me.

"I think…that if there is one thing in this world that you can make, that this is going to be it. And I'll supervise while you do it. And I bet it's the best thing we've ever had, because you are going to make it with love," he said, leaning in to press his cold lips to my forehead. I blinked dumbly at him, somewhat confused before my eyes flickered to the bottle, seeing a recipe on the back of it.

"Rum Cake…" I whispered, a large smile coming up over my face as I hugged the bottle to me, giving Jack a large smile. And I just knew…this was going to be my one recipe that was better than everyone else's. And I would make it with all the love I had for Jack and the good old captain.


	3. Threads of Wisdom

**Yay for another update. I'm not sure if I like this or not. I feel like Mary might be slightly OOC. But I was having a lot of fun with this. And I wanted to try to get at least two more installments up before Christmas. Review and tell me what you think, or maybe what couple you think I should do next. I'm working on several at once, as I get easily frustrated when stressed. Hopefully I'll update again tonight or tomorrow...depending on how well I feel. I think the Christmas crud is about to come get me.**

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" The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery." I paused to make sure I had my audiences' attention. My two oldest children sat on the floor in front of my rocking chair, eyes wide in rapt attention though I had been reading this story to them ever since they were born.

John, our eldest child, about eight now, was sitting Indian style, holding his head up with his hands, elbows propped on his legs. His large brown eyes were magnified by his glasses, dark black bangs falling into his face as he stared up at me, anticipating the next passage of the story.

Maggie stared up at me in equal silent enthusiasm, her dark blue eyes sparkling as she braded her long brown hair. She held an amazing appreciation for books for a five year old.

Jack sat on the couch, his usual overalls replaced with flannel pant bottoms and a large grey t-shirt. He was smiling at me in a way that still to this day made me blush.

Our youngest son, Josh, nearly two, sat on his knee, resting against his chest as he slept. His chubby hand was tucked under his chin while the other hand was clutching to Jack's shirt. I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to the old yellow aged pages, the print fine and somewhat light from aging, no doubt not to make it very many more Christmases before it became illegible.

"It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded."

I read quickly through the telling of the third ghost, my voice never wavering, no questions being asked. My family had the appreciation for fine literature that I had. They shared in my joys and my frustrations when it came to books. They all had the same problem I did. They wanted to read ahead and finish the book.

But by John's first Christmas, I had planned to read certain pages, so we would have read the whole thing by the end of Christmas Eve. Tomorrow the story would be done, and not a moment sooner. It was a tradition, be it a silly one. They all knew how the story ended by now. But yet as I closed the old aging book, its cover scarred with the evidence of over use and displaying it fragileness, the echoes of disappointed sighs and groans came.

"Mommy, please go ahead and finish," Maggie pleaded, crawling over and tugging on my dress. I chuckled at her antics and placed the book on the stand, removing my glasses as I smiled down at my children, John's head nodding in agreement. I rubbed my eyes and shook my head again.

"I'm sorry little ones. Mommy is just too tired to keep reading, even if she wanted too. And besides, it's entirely past your bedtime," I said and I turned my head to the side when Maggie opened her mouth to protest.

"Mind your mother. It's time for bed. We will finish tomorrow like we always do." Jack said quietly and firmly. I let my gaze land on him, my blurry vision able to make out his form holding our son as he gestured for the others to come along. "Let's go now. Daddy will tuck you in." he said with a soothing tone, and I smiled gratefully at him. The children shuffled unwillingly to their room and I stayed in the rocking chair, smiling with my eyes closed as I began to rock back and forth.

I had never dreamed that I would be here, in this place. With a growing family, a loving caring husband. Jack was more than I had ever wanted. He was caring and supportive. He knew when to be my pillar of strength or a gust of encouragement. He knew what to say to me when I was upset, and knew when not to say anything at all. Oh we had our squabbles during our marriage, but they were few and far between.

I had continued to run the library after our marriage, and I had continued to write. Though as a newly wed my writing time had been greatly reduced. The time allotted with that was greater reduced with the discovery of John's impending birth. But I had completed what I could as I could. And it had paid off. I had accomplished my dream of becoming published.

I looked at the small book shaped present under the tree. I hadn't told Jack yet. I thought it would be a lovely Christmas surprise. The book, all eight hundred plus pages, was dedicated to him and our children.

The heat from the fire was soothing to me and the crackle and popping of the burning wood somewhat relaxing in a hypnotic way. I pulled my long braid over my shoulder, untying the restraint and carefully unlacing my hair. I finger combed it, and continued to sit, unable to move at the moment.

"Do you need help?" a soft voice whispered, very close to my ear. It didn't surprise me like it used to. I had grown very much accustomed to Jack's stealth and his ability to sneak up on me when I was in thought.

"Please," I managed out, my cheeks flushing as Jack grabbed both of my hands, pulling me out of the rocking chair. I felt my tummy bump against him and he stepped back some, looking at me worriedly.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his own cheeks heating.

"Jack…by the fourth time around you should know that me bumping into you like that doesn't hurt me," I said teasingly, rubbing my belly reassuringly.

"Well…you know…we're both getting older, and that complicates things," he muttered out, scratching the back of his head. I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him.

"I hardly call thirty old," I huffed, placing my hands on my back as I stepped forward. "though it does make walking more difficult," I added as I winced. The weight in my front was doing little to help my posture. I felt two large strong hands on my slender shoulders, fingers kneading and rubbing affectionately. "Ah…I knew there was a reason I kept you around," I sighed out, humming happily as he guided me slowly to our bedroom.

"You mean besides my charming good looks?" he said with a laugh as he let go of me. I opened my eyes and saw I was facing the bed. I pulled the soft thick pink comforter down and wiggled into the warm comforting bed as I looked up at the ceiling before rolling to my side.

"You won't have those much longer at the rate you're falling apart. If you don't stop wearing that stupid hat you'll be bald in a few years," I deadpanned as he got into the bed too. I felt him pressing against my back and his chin resting on my shoulder.

"Well then it's a good thing you have enough hair for the both of us," he said teasingly, his fingers tracing small circle patterns over the side of my bulging belly. His other hands was running through my hair as it did every night, fingers brushing over my scalp. The gesture was soothing and I felt my heavy eyelids closing. "You'll still love me if I'm old, bald, and fat, right?" he asked after a long silence, his voice somewhat unsure. I let out a tired and frustrated sigh, my eyes opening and then closing again as I muttered out as the same time as I yawned.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Good. I'll still love you when all this gray back here makes its way to the front of your head," he said in a teasing tone.

"Jack, I'm tired," I muttered out, and then tried to elbow him. "And for your information…those are just threads of my vast wisdom." He was silent for a moment but I could feel his lips twitching in a smirk next to my cheek.

"Well then you must be the smartest person I know, because there are a lot of threads back here," he said quietly, pressing his lips against my temple. "Sorry…you set yourself up for that one."

"Your incorrigible," I sighed, resting my hand on top of his and forcing it to be still. "We'll flirt tomorrow. Now we sleep."

"Yes Dear."


	4. The Woes of Trees and Hormones

**I think I had a little to fun with this once I got out of my slump. You guys let me know what you think. I never married Ann so I'm not sure what she would be like...but I tried. Review or dont. Thanks for reading.**

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I always thought Christmas was great. From the very first time I could remember it. That awesome feeling when you wake up and you just know that everything is going to go perfect. You know Santa came to see you, you know that there were presents under the tree for you. You knew mom and dad were going to have bright smiles on their faces. Everything was just peachy.

It was when you got older that things began to become just as imperfect as every other day.

As you got older you realized that things didn't last forever. Dad could never wrap the presents up for you as well as mom could have, had she still been here. Ham was never done in the middle anymore, and Dad never smiled as big as he used to.

And even older you realized how much of a pain it was to put lights on the Christmas tree. How damn easy it was for ornament hooks to wonder out of a box you had placed them in the year before. Just why you weren't supposed to touch that special eggnog that customers like Duke loved so much.

And yet every year something that you didn't understand was revealed, something that you liked was somewhat ruined. A prime example.

My freaking Christmas tree.

I loved the tree. I loved the shape, the size, the texture, the little specks of bark that were all over my carpet at the moment but would soon be picked up. I loved the smell of the pine needles, and how there was a trail of them from the entrance of the house all the way to the living room where Jack had just dragged the tree in earlier that day.

I didn't like that fact that I was going to have to clean up those little specks of bark and needles when I couldn't even see my own feet. I didn't like that I had steeped by the tree and my foot had stuck in some sap that had leaked out. I didn't like that Jack was taking to long doing his farming chores when I wanted to put the tree up and start decorating it right now. I didn't like that Jack had told me to wait for him and not to move the tree.

And so in typical Ann fashion, I didn't wait.

Perhaps I should have waited. I mean, right now I was kind of trapped behind the tree, up against the wall unable to move very much without breaking limbs off the tree. But I had OCD and it was just too damn crooked. I had been trying to fix it when it had started to fall, and I had grabbed it, and now I was pinned behind it. Of course, looking up I could say that from right here it looked perfectly straight. And normally being pinned behind a tree wouldn't be that big of a deal. But seeing as how I was two weeks away from my due date, my feet were swollen and my legs were beginning to hurt from being up so long, I was I short- not a happy Ann.

An unhappy Ann is bad enough.

A pregnant unhappy Ann is demon spawn.

"Ann…" I heard my husband's voice as a cold gust of winter wind came into the house, and heard him huff. "What the heck did I tell you Ann?" he asked coming up and snatching the tree forward so I could get out.

"I got tired of waiting for you," I said, meeting his deep brown eyes, seemingly a dark coal color from his apparent annoyance with me.

"You're not supposed to be doing any heavy lifting," he began and I held my hand up interrupting him.

"I wasn't"

"Oh really? I suppose the tree just hoped up all on its own, did it now?" He said sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest. I sighed and stepped forward, waddling to the couch and sitting down.

"Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I'm helpless," I began, trying not to give into pregnancy hormones and kill my well-meaning husband. "Besides, it wasn't that heavy!"

"Just because you think you're as strong as an ox doesn't mean you should go picking up trees when you're pregnant," he countered back, stalking over to me and pushing the coffee table closer, grabbing my legs and propping them up on the table. "Doc said for you to stay off your feet you stubborn mule," he muttered out in aggravation, snatching his hat off his head and tossing it on the empty spot next to me.

"The doctor is just trying to make me miserable," I mumbled out, arms crossing over my chest as I began to sulk.

"You're being immature," he stated with a sigh, shaking his head as he began to remove his thick winter jacket.

"Whatever Jack. I hate your face," I hissed, hitting the table with the heel of my foot angrily.

"And I hate your hormones. That makes us even," he snapped back, tossing his jacket to the table over my legs. He took a deep breath and attempted to give me a smile. "Let me make us something to eat and we can decorate the tree…"

"I hate your cooking. Everything you make is fried or burnt," I snarled, the baby kicking my tummy in agreement. I hadn't married Jack for his cooking skills, that was for sure.

"Look…you just need to relax. Let me take care of you Ann," he said gently. At least as gently as he could with his short fuse burning to an inevitable explosion.

"I…am sick and tired," I began, my eyes shut tightly as I tried to calm the urge to burst out in tears "of being forced on this couch day after day while you do everything! I hate it here!"

Jack gaped at me for a moment before shutting his mouth; eyes narrowed as he forced both his hands through his thick hair. I heard him making a sound that resembled a growl as he shut his eyes tightly. I raised an eyebrow as I counted him taking deep breaths.

When he got to ten he opened his eyes and glared at me. He still looked somewhat irate, and his left eye twitched slightly as he spun on his heels. I watched him as he stalked out the door, slamming it behind him. I looked to the shut door to the hat next to me, my own mouth opened some. I looked back to the discarded jacket and sighed.

"Well…that is a new level of anger…" I trailed off absent mindedly, my fingers taping my bottom lip. Perhaps I had over reacted…

…And if I hadn't I damn sure would when the unlucky bastard walked through that door. I don't care how much he was mad at me. Four damn hours away was more than enough to cool off. And it was dark and the snow was picking up. Goddess help me if he was frozen in a snow drift I would thaw him out and kill him!

When the door to the house opened I flew out of our bedroom as fast as I could waddle, irate and ready to grab the rolling pin and hit the idiot with it. But I stopped, arms flailing to keep me balanced as I saw two men enter my house.

One being my husband, still coatless and hatless, and he had apparently decided bandages around his head were a nice look. He was being supported by an all too familiar man with red hair, and I felt my heart jump into my throat, making it hard to swallow.

"D-Dad, what happened?" I asked, making my way as quickly as I could over to the couch as my father placed Jack on the couch. He stretched backwards, popping his back as he looked at me with a large grin.

"Well…Cliff found him in the square on the way back to the inn," he began, pointing to Jack's head. "Evidently he slipped on some ice and knocked himself out."

Jack blinked, his expression somewhat blank as he brought a hand up to his head, hissing when he touched the side of it. I hurried back into the bedroom, grabbing his pillow and a blanket, and came back in to make Jack more comfortable.

"He was out in the snow unconscious for four hours?" I asked, my voice somewhat husky from emotion.

"Oh no! He's been at the clinic for about two hours. Then…he came too and refused to go home unless he brought some food…" Dad chuckled, showing me a big white bag that he had carried in with out me noticing. "Claims that…you were upset…and didn't want to eat his cooking."

"Will everyone please be quiet? My head is killing me," Jack whined, covering his ears with both of his hands. I blinked at the food my dad had in the bag, and then back down at the wounded man on the couch. A large grin graced my face and I bent down, pressing my lips to Jack's for a quick peck.

"Thank you honey," I said with a sugary voice, somewhat…touched at his display of affection in his anger. Jack opened his eyes and looked somewhat confused, though a small smirk grew on his lips.

"I thought you hated my face," He said teasingly, eyes shutting comfortably as he relaxed into the couch.

"Oh no. I love it…it's the most adorable face I've ever woken up to," I said enthusiastically. I heard a snort and looked over to my father, who was scowling at me disapprovingly.

"It had better be the only face you've ever woken up to," he growled out, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at me. I rolled my eyes at the older man, standing up straight and walking to him.

"Well…you know there was that one time," I trailed off teasingly, though Dad didn't seem to think it was very funny. I took the bag of food and made my way to the kitchen, immediately smelling a fresh apple pie from the depth of the bag, my mouth watering. I'd been craving one for two days now.

"Ann…" came Jack's voice from the couch, and I grinned, turning my head in his direction and clasping my hands together.

"Yes darling husband of mine," I responded cheerfully, all anger, worry and any other emotion but sheer delight gone from my being.

"Don't eat all the pie this time. I would like to say that I think I earned at least a slice this time," he called out in a half yawn from the couch. I scowled, anger filling me again.

"I hate your face Jack," I growled, taking the fork and taking a chunk out of the pie to spite him. My dad laughed at me reaction and I could hear an all to familiar chuckle coming from the couch.

"Well I love yours."


End file.
